


oxford comma

by corvidcries



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - High School, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Roommates, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, gratuitous vampire weekend references, no beta we die like george in manhunt, oh my god they were roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29697783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvidcries/pseuds/corvidcries
Summary: Dream cuts class one too many times and finds himself shipped off to boarding school. Arriving halfway into the school year, he’s assigned George as a roommate; it’s hate at first sight. But at the edges of their vitriol, a more complicated feeling lingers.Swiftly, Dream thrust out his hand to grab George’s tie. Grasping tightly, he wound it around clenched fingers and tugged slightly, leaving only scarce inches between their faces. Dream was right earlier, he does hold a significant height advantage, forcing George to look up at him. George’s eyes were blown wide, wideness born from surprise and fear alike, but an iota of unflinching pigheadedness lingered.“Oh, Georgie,” Dream cooed. “I don’tthinkI’m better than you. Iambetter than you.”
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 59
Kudos: 228





	1. feels so unnatural

As the two shook hands, Dream came to a conclusion; he was quite positive his roommate hated him. Having known the guy for all of five minutes, he supposed he was meant to feel offended that George had wasted no time putting up a cold front. Languidly, his brain hefted the affront around in attempts to stir up some sort of righteous indignation, before recognizing that there were bigger issues to attend to. To borrow from his beloved roommate’s British patois, Dream resolved that he simply _could not be arsed_ to care. 

Onto more pressing matters: he was entirely marooned. 

Three short months prior to his abandonment, if one had informed Dream that he would soon attend a boarding school, he would’ve laughed until his lungs gave out. In a wheezing stupor, Dream would eke out a string of profanities towards whatever idiot suggested such crap. Present Dream now took a moment to fantasize about bashing Past Dream’s head in. It took all of the first week of classes for Past Dream to deem attending his junior year at a local public high school as “non-essential.” It took all of his absence in twenty class periods for a truancy notice to find its way to his parents, a harshly worded letter from the county’s superintendent threatening legal action. Comparatively, retribution sped by. 

His parents did not take kindly to hearing their son had cut classes to the point of facing court summons. As the upstanding, picket-fence-owning, PTA-attending, soccer-mom-SUV-driving family next door, they detested non-conformity. Furthermore, as far as Dream was concerned, they detested their son. He could find no other reason as to why they’d force, ferry, and fund his banishment. Reluctantly, he acknowledged his parents had sound reasoning for turning to an alternative method of schooling. With an institution acting _in loco parentis,_ the administration would always know where he was, keeping Dream from driving his actual parents _loco._ The institution in question? 

Four hundred acres of snobbery populated by roughly three hundred prisoners, (or, rather, pupils), wedged into an irrelevant corner of rural Connecticut. Apparently, it wasn’t enough to be banished to boarding school. Rather, Dream had to be funneled up north, away from his native Florida into the begrudgingly open arms of New England. This haphazardly thrust him into unrelenting cold forecasts and an even more frigid brand of East Coast pretension. Oh, how he would hate them all.

Admission had come to his great shock and displeasure, but perhaps initially tinged with pride. The school was by no means easy to get into, arousing suspicion from Dream, a middling student whose only marketable skill was his knack for standardized testing. That is, when he could be bothered to take them. Mere hours after his acceptance letter arrived, Dream had found an explanation. By scouring through internet forums, Dream learned that those who got into Branton Valley, (the school had been named after a local village, how positively _quaint_ , he had mused), fell into three categories.

The first category: they were inordinately wealthy. 

The second category: they were inordinately gifted. 

And the third, final, most pitiable category: they were inordinately troubled.

According to those on the message board, Branton Valley privately held a soft spot for “trouble-makers,” the tragic ne’er do wells who could fulfill the administration's savior complex. Touting the school’s reformation of those they deemed problem children made the school look better for it. Dream deflated slightly before thinking better of it; if his peers thought him a delinquent, maybe they’d simply leave him alone. He supposed the label was even fairly thrust on him. _Delinquent._ What a slimy word. As someone who harbored a secret love for writing and literature alike, Dream was well aware of the power of nuance. 

Joining the school in January, when students returned from winter break, would surely catapult Dream into the spotlight. It was highly unorthodox for a student to join midway through the year, a scandalous occurrence. Dream had hoped that being the new miscreant in town would protect him from their curiosity, if only due to the fact they were too intimidated to ask too many questions. Even so, when he stepped onto campus, he felt more than just the wind pricking his skin; the hot glare of several pairs of eyes made itself known. 

Dream ignored this in favor of thrusting his arms upwards and stretching, the popping of his spine indicative of the long journey that he’d completed. Several hours before, his parents and sister had dropped him off at his gate in the airport. Dream prepared for the flight ahead. He had slung his backpack onto the hard ground of the airport, the trunks with all his worldly possessions having been checked and paid for already. His family wavered awkwardly. 

“Don’t get up to trouble,” his dad had gruffly put in. 

_Thanks, Dad, love you too,_ Dream had responded in his head. Outwardly, he only nodded.

“Don’t get too lonely,” his mother effused tearfully. Dream internally rolled his eyes. 

“I’ll manage.” Dream turned to his sister expectantly. 

“Don’t come back,” she smirked. Dream cuffed her upside the head, but smiled genuinely nevertheless. 

“Nah,” Dream said. “I’ll be back before you know it. Sorry dude.” As he watched his family’s retreating backs, he could only hope that it was the truth. 

Upon arriving in Connecticut, he was picked up by a cab called by the school. Stepping outside the airport, he was taken aback by the chill. Contrary to popular belief, Dream was not, in fact, an idiot. He was well aware that New England was cold, especially in the throes of winter. Even further, he was under the impression that freezing weather was an acquaintance, stopping by to remind Dream of its presence whenever Florida faced the occasional cold front. But never had it lingered as it did then, clinging and coalescing in the wind that toyed with the thin material of his sweatshirt. 

The same wind battered Dream as he stood in the parking lot of his new home. As much as he had hoped to despise it, the campus was as impressive as it had looked online. From the lot where he stood, Dream had an excellent view of the looming dormitory in front of him. All of the students resided in one of two spacious dormitories, divided by gender, and staffed vigilantly by three “house parents” each. The male dormitory, a sprawling stone house with excessive windows, had a sign affixed to the staggering black front door dubbing it _Harmony Hall_. Dream snorted. How presumptuous to imbue a building full of teenage boys as anything remotely hamonic. 

The taxi driver chose this moment to lean on the horn. Dream startled, then whipped around to shoot a furtive glare. The driver’s wan face was unapologetic. 

“Can’t be here all day, man. Just take your shit out of my trunk so I can go.” Dream’s brow tightened further. 

“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to talk to students like that, _man_ ,” Dream snapped as he threw the hatch open roughly. The driver laughed, the low sound carrying from the front of the car. 

“You’re probably my tenth passenger today. You think you some hot shit, huh? Big shot rich kid wasting daddy’s money?” Dream scowled, but was chastened enough to keep his mouth shut. With a grunt, he unearthed the last of his suitcases and heaved it onto the concrete next to the rest of his possessions. Dream had scarcely slammed the trunk shut before the car tore off from the parking lot. Swiveling away from the front of the dormitory, Dream flipped off the quickly departing taxi. 

“Asshole,” he muttered to himself.

“Pardon?” Dream whipped his head around at the intrusion. Standing approximately a yard from him was another boy. It was hard to gauge exactly from the distance at which he stood, but Dream reckoned that he had a solid few inches on the guy. The stranger was dressed in an immaculately crisp school uniform, despite the lack of onus to on a Sunday. He had put on all the airs; a starched white blouse that hung loosely off his frame, pressed navy tie encircling it. Spiffy gray trousers, shiny loafers with the barest suggestion of usage, all topped off by a blazer the same hue as the tie. He fidgeted with the gold cufflinks on his blazer and Dream’s eyes followed the movement. Watched his pale hands fiddle with them, uniform nails free of dirt. Disallowing himself to linger, Dream raked his vision upwards, attempting a semblance of eye contact that was typically difficult for him to hold. 

What met him was a deeply bemused expression. If Dream had to guess, the face probably belonged to someone a grade below him. He was not wholly unattractive. Not that Dream often put much thought into the aesthetic appeal of other guys, but the stranger in front of him was admittedly quite handsome. For some reason, this irked Dream. He was not handsome in an unobtrusive way, but rather looked like someone who was well aware of the favorable conjunction of his features. A slender effete, some posh boy who smugly dangled the influence of his looks. He was too clean, his brown hair too in place, his skin too clear. Too much of a straight line, no suggestion of a hidden edge behind those dark, open eyes.

Dream realized he had been staring for far too long. What a sight he must be, a rumpled mess from traveling circled by beat-up luggage. The silence continued to hang like a thick fog, as Dream was unwilling to offer an explanation and the stranger had yet to offer his name. Dream watched as his lips set in a straight line, then re-animated themselves into a manufactured smile. 

“Hi, so nice to meet you! My name is George, and you must be Clay-” Dream cut into his obviously rehearsed spiel.

“Dream.” George raised a singular eyebrow in faint befuddlement. 

“Beg your pardon?” 

“My name. I go by Dream,” Dream said in monotone. In reframing himself as the delinquent his peers expected, Dream supposed he would have to get used to these interactions, uttering sentences peppered with monosyllabism in a flat tone. In the meanwhile, he felt George search his face for any humor in the statement. Dream stared stonily back. 

“Okay, well, _Dream_ ,” George said, using his name as though he was humoring a toddler, “Welcome to Branton Valley!” Dream nearly snorted. There was no way this guy was for real.

“I’m ecstatic,” he deadpanned. George’s fake pep once again flickered as he dropped the smile. Dream reveled in glimpsing beneath George’s carefully put together exterior. Maybe that shiny, plastic artificiality would give way to some hidden feistiness. But, then again, as Dream watched George rearrange his features into some semblance of forced sympathy, maybe not. 

“Believe me, I understand boarding school might seem scary, but I promise myself and others in our grade will make you feel right at home.” Dream grinned at that one.

 _“Our_ grade? I’m a junior, kid. You’re a freshman,” Dream teased. “And, honestly, if you’re meant to be the welcoming committee, you’re doing a shit job.” To his immense satisfaction, this comment proved to be the final straw. George stamped forward, closing the distance with a scowl. 

“Listen to me, you overgrown American,” George hissed, and Dream obliged, grin still intact. “I was told you would be difficult. I was told all about your record, how your parents sent you here as some last-ditch attempt to salvage the education that was so clearly wasted on you. And for a minute there, I was proper sorry for you. But now-”

“But now what?” Dream interrupted once again, his gaze now stormy, face wiped clean of the previous humor. “Have I not lived up to your expectations?” George’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly; one part appraisal, two parts aggression. 

“Worse,” he said coldly. “You’re exactly who your file says you are.” Dream was stunned into silence by this, lurching back slightly as though he had taken a blow. George persisted. 

“You put on this whole deadpan _I’m a badass don’t fuck with me_ act because you think that’s what you should be. Or perhaps you think it’s cool, or new or original. I’ll let you in on something: It isn’t. Stop thinking as though you’re better than people like me because you’re so unbothered and above it all,” George spat. Dream hastened forwards, making up the ground he had relinquished and then some. Much to his pleasure, George’s eyes widened at the movement. However, though Dream hated to concede to it, George was brave, standing his ground. Dream needed to wipe that stupid superiority off his face. 

Swiftly, Dream thrust out his hand to grab George’s tie. Grasping tightly, he wound it around clenched fingers and tugged slightly, leaving only scarce inches between their faces. Dream was right earlier, he does hold a significant height advantage, forcing George to look up at him. George’s eyes were blown wide, wideness born from surprise and fear alike, but an iota of unflinching pigheadedness lingered. 

“Oh, Georgie,” Dream cooed. “I don’t _think_ I’m better than you. I _am_ better than you. This has been fun, but I’m bored now. Can you make yourself useful now and show me to my roommate? I have better people to meet.” To Dream’s chagrin and confusion alike, George’s face was then split by poorly contained laughter. In his befuddlement, Dream slackened his grip on the tie, an action George took advantage of in order to collect himself. Smoothing his tie back into place, George’s face reconstructed itself one final time into a neutral mask of trained professionalism. 

George pitched his hand forward. Dream watched it hang limply, wondering if George intended for him to kiss it. _What the hell is wrong with you_ , Dream thought, kicking himself for his useless brain and its useless thoughts. George rolled his eyes at Dream’s apprehension and grabbed his right hand from where it hung stupidly in the air, frozen in its previous state of motion. Dream watched, mind impeached from his body at the absurd turn of events. He watched as George clasped their hands together and shook firmly. The vice-like grip of George’s greeting nearly drew a wince from Dream’s lips, jolting him back into reality. A hint of a smirk graced George’s lips.

“Nice to meet you. As you may remember, my name is George. I’ll be your roommate this year.” At this, Dream was confronted by a sinking feeling; the coming months would not, in fact, be over as quickly as he had forecasted. _Here goes nothing_ , Dream thought, eyes locked on George’s. Dream couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. 


	2. rock and roll, complete control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> flighty roommates and their snarky horseshit (ft. sapnap)

George held a few fundamental beliefs, most of which were impressed upon by his father. Firstly, he believed in punctuality. Secondly, he believed in meeting the high standards set for him. Thirdly, and most passionately, George believed that he was not paid enough for this shit. Admittedly, he was not paid anything for being Dream’s roommate, a position that most certainly befit a salary. All it had taken was being paid a visit by the headmaster. George recalled the meeting bitterly. 

As of his junior year, George was a prefect, putting him in good standing with the administration. His academic and athletic accolades alike certainly contributed to the rapport built with the school, being on honor roll and usurping the position of tennis co-captain. If all else failed, however, George’s father sat on an embarrassment of riches that went towards tuition and donation alike. The culmination of these factors surely contributed to the Herculean task that had been asked of him.

On that fateful day, nearly a week before Dream would arrive, (though George did not yet know it), the headmaster had personally pulled him out of fourth period biology. George had no reason to worry, what with his undisputed straight edge reputation. And yet, he had twitched anyhow. As though he had known what request would be aimed at him. It took very little convincing. If an adult requested something of him, George was brought up to be accommodating to it. 

George hadn’t been lying to Dream either; a precise pang of sympathy shot straight through him upon viewing Dream’s file. George knew what it was like, having overbearing parental expectations ensnaring you, demanding, cajoling. So when the headmaster requested George consider opening his previously roommate-less dorm to Dream, George had given an emphatic yes.

One could still argue that this decision loaned some of its vehemcy to George’s bolstered ego; at this George would concede yes, it was nice to feel needed. His reputation of being an immaculate student had clearly not gone unnoticed, as he was being called on to set a good example for a rather “misguided” new admit. Their first meeting, however, had dashed all his hopes of an amicable relationship. 

Perhaps George was at fault there, as he had certainly not held the sort of decorum his father would approve of. But it could not be helped. Inexplicably, George felt a bite of irritation before Dream had even addressed him. This could quite possibly be attributed to his appearance. George had donned his uniform in hopes of imparting some sort of professionalism, while Dream had. Well. _Well._

George had to preface this line of thinking with the unfortunate reality of Dream’s striking looks. Upon first glance, George was quickly acquainted with the appearance in front of him. Dream had not, in fact, felt the same necessity to uphold any professionalism in his dress. Granted, he had been traveling for the better part of four hours. But nary a single effort seemed to be reflected in his outfit; a yellow-tinged hoodie that still managed to be oversized despite his considerable frame. 

George would wager it was actually green, but the unfortunate reality of his color blindness kept him from knowing for certain. Grey sweatpants emblazoned with a cartoonish alligator, _Florida_ running down his right leg in overstated letters. George had deep disdain for this lack of effort, (he was pretty sure the orange granules that clung to Dream’s sweatshirt were the remnants of Cheetos), and an even deeper disdain for American sports fans. 

But despite this, despite his rumpled, unassuming attire, despite even the apparent Cheeto debauchery, Dream still cut an imposing figure. Hence George’s annoyance. This was most obviously attributed to his obnoxiously tall stature, but there was subtlety in his intimidation as well. It was attributed to his startling eyes, a similar hue to his hoodie, lidded with boredom but still sharp. Attributed to his piercings, where George’s hasty approximation counted six; two in each lobe, a double helix through his left ear. Dream exuded easy confidence with no discernible effort. 

George’s mood was soured already. This was the look of someone who rarely heard _no_ , and would ergo expect things to go his way. That sort of mindset would most certainly clash with George’s more stubborn tendencies. Therefore, seconds before the first conversation, the exchanging of words that set the precedent for their interactions to come, George had found himself thinking _This surely won’t end well._

-

Dream couldn’t speak for the end yet, but it certainly wasn’t off to an auspicious start. After shaking George’s hand, they trudged in an awkward silence into Harmony Hall, Dream toting his luggage with his backpack slung across his chest. Regardless of the discomfort he felt, Dream was still able to admire his surroundings. The large black door gave way to a vestibule with coats and umbrellas alike hanging from pegs in either wall. 

Further in still, Dream could only quickly observe the rows of doors lining the hallway as he struggled to keep up with George’s brisk pace. Dream caught snippets of sound devoid of context as he passed the dorms and neared another door, this one white, that housed a stairwell. Groaning internally, Dream took this to mean George’s dorm- _their_ dorm- was on the second floor. Which also meant he was to lug his suitcases all the way up. Great. Upon reaching the second floor, George slowed, giving Dream more time to process the new environment.

The hallway was sumptuously decorated, wooden floors adorned with Oriental rugs, expensive-looking but ultimately boring paintings tastefully bracketing the dark oak doors of the dorms. The doors were affixed with golden numbers and the occasional whiteboard, a mark of student decoration. The wide hallway lent itself to multiple overstuffed couches and armchairs. This place was a hell of a lot nicer than public school. Despite himself, Dream let out a low whistle. For the first time since entering the dormitory, George turned around. The ghost of a patronizing smile loomed on his face. 

“Apologies. I’d assume the sophistication is a bit of a culture shock coming from _Flawda_.” At the utterance of Dream’s state, George rendered his accent to a cheap imitation of a Southern drawl. Dream felt his face heat up, both in the embarrassment of inferiority, and anger at his home being reduced to a population of hicks. 

“I’m not sure how people act wherever the hell you live, but in ‘ _Flawda_ _’_ we consider that sort of talk to be fighting words,” Dream said through gritted teeth. George appeared unimpressed. 

“If you insist on taking it so personally, I insist we not get into it in the hallway. Come on,” George responded dismissively, gesturing to a room a few doors down. Dream burned, stifling the urge to hurl a _you started it_ like some sort of petulant child. As George pushed the door to their room open, he continued to speak.

“Whenever I’ve lived somewhere long enough to figure out the residents' stance on, erm, what did you call it? ‘Fighting words’? How barbaric. Anyway, whenever that happens, I’ll let you know,” George finished dryly. Dream followed him inside and cocked his head slightly, dropping his luggage next to the empty bed, too confused to even process the trappings of his new home. 

“What do you mean, lived somewhere long enough?” Dream asked. George pinkened at the notion of compromising his cherished privacy, then rolled his eyes to maintain his previous nonchalance. 

“If you must know,” George sighed, “My father is a diplomat. I’ve lived all over, but never for very long. He felt as though I had been uprooted too often and sent me here so I wasn’t in a constant state of moving.” Dream was suitably impressed by this, but tried his best not to convey that. His own parents held less esteemed jobs, so comparatively George once again appeared superior. Dream felt sure that was his intention. 

“If you’ve never stayed anywhere for long, how come you sound all...dumb and British-y?” George’s jaw tightened at this. 

“I sound dumb and British-y, as you so eloquently put, due to the fact I grew up in Britain. My father accepted the position when I was nine years old, so I’ve got quite few memories of it anyhow. My accent could also be blamed on being around my English father and my English friends here. Any more stupid questions?” Dream opened his mouth with the intent to retort until a vibration from his sweatshirt pocket halted his momentum. Dream fished his phone out, gazing into its cracked screen. 

_sapnap: 2 Messages_

Dream flopped onto his unadorned bed. 

“None of my questions are stupid,” he mumbled, unlocking his phone. George snorted but didn’t respond, recognizing Dream’s fixation. 

**_sapnap_ ** _: yoooooooo_

_u in hell yet or nah_

Dream grinned. His avoidance of school left Dream with no “real life” friends to speak of. However, his devoted hours to scouring Minecraft servers established a devoted friend in Sapnap. Their in-game names are what led to Dream eschewing Clay in favor of his digital nom de plume. Dream typed back. 

**_dreamwastaken_ ** _: unfortunately_

_and my roommates an ass_

 **_sapnap_ ** _: lolololol u said ass_

 **_dreamwastaken_ ** _: stfu_

 **_sapnap_ ** _: no but fr boarding schools not that bad_

Sapnap, ironically enough, had been attending a boarding school himself since sophomore year. He had been ecstatic that Dream would finally endure the weird greatnesses it presented. 

**_dreamwastaken_ ** _: maybe not for u :(_

_idfk i’ll prolly b fine_

 **_sapnap_ ** _: hell ya dude! dw roommate shit is no big_

_you’ll find other ppl to talk 2_

At this, Dream was given pause. He hesitated before voicing his insecurities. 

**_dreamwastaken_ ** _: but what if i don’t :/_

 **_sapnap_ ** _: wdym_

 **_dreamwastaken_ ** _: idk i just haven’t had real friends in a while_

 **_sapnap_ ** _: WTF what am i then??_

 **_dreamwastaken_ ** _: bahaha u kno what i mean_

 **_sapnap_ ** _: yes and no_

_yes bc u haven’t gone to school enuf to make friends this past year_

_no bc ur gonna be fine n e ways bc ur mf awesomeeeee :D_

 **_dreamwastaken_ ** _: u think so?_

 **_sapnap_ ** _: 100%_

_now get ur ass out of ur dorm and make some friends loserrrr_

_RN_

_ppl now unpack later_

**_dreamwastaken_ ** _: lmao_

_u said ass XD_

Dream powered his phone off and rose from the bed. While he had been caught up in the conversation, George had seemingly left. Dream took this time to make a quick sweep of the room before following Sapnap’s advice. Unsurprisingly, George’s side of the room was tidy. His blue and green checkered comforter was tucked in neatly and his desk held only stacked notebooks. 

George’s living space was immaculately clean, but also inescapably impersonal. There were no posters, no decorations. It didn’t look as though anyone lived there full-time, despite George doing just that. Less like a home, more like a hotel. It was unsettling. The only reprieve from outright monotony was a single picture on the cork board above his desk. The polaroid had been affixed to the board with a whale shaped pin, which seemed surprisingly childish for George’s tastes.

It was of George and another boy. George had his head thrown back in mirth, an expression Dream had never seen on him. For some reason, something stirred in Dream’s chest. He look undoubtedly radiant. _What a weird thought_. Dream nudged it away by panning his gaze to the other boy in the photo. He was on a similar level of infuriating handsome, what with his fluffy hair and smug smile gracing his features. This must be one of George’s purported English friends.

There was a caption in the white space in looping cursive. _You look nicer when you smile, old man_ , it read. _Happy birthday. May you trot even closer to death -Wilby._

Dream was interrupted from pondering the significance of this photo by an eruption in the hallway. From outside, Dream heard George raise his voice to receive only laughs in response. Someone laughing in the face of George’s anger? This was clearly an ally. Dream opened the door to meet his new best friend.

Walking into the hallway revealed George in a state of annoyance. He was standing in someone else’s doorway, arms akimbo.

“Are you even listening to me?” George seethed. Dream moved closer behind him to see who he was addressing. The stranger inside the dorm was leaning on the open door, phone in hand and smirk in place. Dream watched as he pushed his dark floppy hair back from where it hung over what appeared to be a white bandana. 

“Sorry man, was kinda busy texting somebody. Also, I don’t see the problem.”

“Don’t see the-“ George huffed through his nose. “Are you crazy?” The stranger looked up at this moment, observing Dream’s presence where George had not. 

“Hey, George,” he lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “Who’s the vagabond?” George whipped his head around and glowered.

“Eavesdrop much?” George snarked. 

“Fuck off,” Dream said coolly. George turned to glare at the unknown boy inside, who was chuckling to himself.

“Oh, come off it Nick. It wasn’t that funny.” The newly christened Nick stuck his tongue out at George. 

“It was funny to me, you buzzkill. So are y’all roommates?” Dream perked up at the Southern jargon. 

“Unfortunately,” Dream sighed. “You from the South?” Nick brightened.

“Texas, born and raised babyyyy,” he said, drawing out the y. “You?”

“Florida.” Nick grimaced at that. 

“Ahhh,” he said, nodding sagely. “Gator land.” Nick’s tone was teasing, so Dream half-heartedly hit his shoulder. _If only Sapnap could see me now_ , Dream thought. _Making friends already._

“Sorry to break up this Yankee camaraderie,” George said, not sounding the least bit sorry, “But you really need to erase that.” Dream’s curiosity was piqued.

“Erase what?” Dream asked.

“Erase-” 

“Excuse me,” Dream cut George off. “I wasn’t asking you.” Nick’s grin broadened.

“Oh, I like him. He’ll think it’s funny. Alright dude, peep this.” Nick straightened, no longer obscuring the door he was leaning on. The door had a whiteboard, like some others in the hall Dream had noticed. In orange-markered chicken scratch handwriting, it proclaimed, _NICK IS ON FIRE._ Underneath, someone, presumably Nick, had drawn a small flame. 

“I have a bit of history with fire,” Nick offered in an explanatory tone, explaining very little. In fact, Dream was left with even more questions. George pinched the bridge of his nose.

“The school is well aware of your history with fire, and whoever does room checks won’t find the reference funny. Normal people would refer to your ‘history,’” here George employed air quotes, “As arson.” Dream’s eyebrows shot up. Man, Sapnap would get along with this guy. They bore a similar track record. Nick waved his hand in a consolatory manner.

“You’re being dramatic, _Gogy_.” Gogy? Dream filed one for later use in hastening George’s annoyance. George reddened. His fair skin seemed to flood with color easily at the slightest provocation. 

“I’m really not, _Sap._ ” Dream froze. Surely Dream had misheard. Surely there was another explanation. There was no way.

“What did you just call him?” Dream asked, addressing George for once. George rounded on him. 

“A nickname. It’s what you call people you’re friends with. I’ll forgive you for not knowing on the account of not having any,” George said bitingly. Nick frowned.

“You’re being mad toxic,” he chastised. Nick swiveled his focus to Dream. “I usually go by Sapnap online. George likes to get on my dick about it sometimes,” he explained kindly. Dream had barely even processed the insult. His tongue had somehow become inoperable. _I know you_ , he yearned to say. Instead, Dream listened to the petty cat fight the conversation devolved into. 

“Get on your dick? How positively vulgar,” George simpered ironically. 

“Oh, I forgot,” Nick (Sapnap?) said. “You’re saving yourself for Wilbur.” George somehow got even redder. _Wilby_ , Dream though absentmindedly. The gorgeous polaroid boy. 

“I am doing nothing of the sort!” George squawked, looking ruffled. Entertaining as this line of conversation would certainly be, Dream regained his sense of urgency. 

“Hey, wait. Pause. Let’s go back to the nickname shit.” George looked grateful at the change of subject. 

“Oh, of course, I didn’t even introduce you two. Nick, don’t feel too bad, he goes by a dumb nickname too.” Sapnap raised an eyebrow. 

“What’s your name, bro?” Dream cleared his throat, aware of the significance of his answer. 

“Dream,” he said simply. “Nice to finally meet you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your support has been so lovely!! as always, comments + kudos are appreciated :)


	3. look inside and turn to the door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> your esteemed author treats you to fluff. (or, a calm before the storm >:3c )

George reckoned he had amassed some serious bad karma in his hypothetical past life. He could come to no other conclusion for why the universe had drawn Dream and Sapnap together and made George bear witness to the antics that followed. Their meeting was at first grudgingly sweet; the exchanging of shocked greetings, the  _ I-never-thought-I’d-ever-meet-you _ -s, laughter at the absurdity of the situation they found themselves in. 

“Dream, you dumbass,” Sapnap got out between laughs. “When I said make some friends, I meant  _ new  _ friends.” Dream had socked him in the arm, their online ease translating into comfortable physicality. 

“How was I meant to know it was you? Some shit luck we have, both anchored in fuck-off Connecticut.” Sapnap gasped in mock offense.

“Shit luck? Nah, man,  _ great  _ luck. You met me! Makes the whole thing worth it,” he proclaimed goofily, half-joking. Dream had smiled, endeared. Privately, George decided he much preferred Dream’s genuine joy to his stony exterior. This thought quickly dissipated as Dream and Nick engaged in what George could only think to label as frat-boy adjacent “homiesexual” posturing. As they exchanged flirtations, George stood awkwardly in the hallway, feeling like a quasi third wheel. There was no reason to bear witness to such a trainwreck, he resolved, and left to seek refuge in his dorm.

Sitting on his bed, George wondered for the umpteenth time why exactly straight men were like this. George himself was gay, and while secure in his sexuality, such sensitive information was only disclosed to those closest to him. His eyes drifted to the picture above his desk. This privileged group of people included the star of the photo; Wilbur. Wilby. Will. 

The photo had been taken in November, on George’s seventeenth birthday. The caption was ironic, Wilbur had claimed, as he had turned seventeen a couple months before but was still referring to George as an old man. It was ironic in the same way that it was ironic Napoleon was actually not short, he explained, and yet is forever engraved in history as a diminutive leader. George couldn’t be sure if that was precisely true or not, but trusted Wilbur due to his passion for history. As for George’s passion for Wilbur, as implied by Sapnap, well… 

George blushed thinking about it. It was no secret that Wilbur was attractive. However, this unfortunate detail coincided with George’s longtime friendship to the boy. Was that sort of bond worth compromising? George had no reason to pursue any romantic feelings; he could scarcely tell if he had even harbored any for Wilbur. Hell, George could scarcely tell if Wilbur would even be into dudes. It was no use even being attracted to him. Sure, he was tall and handsome, but plenty of guys were. Take Dream, for example.  _ Wait, why am I thinking about Dream?  _ George wondered, mildly disgusted. 

Dream was  _ obviously  _ good-looking in the same sense that the sun would  _ obviously  _ rise in the morning and in the same sense that George would  _ obviously  _ be annoyed by his looks. Such an observation surely didn’t indicate any feelings on George’s part. Dream was an asshole! He couldn’t be into an asshole.  _ Assholes shouldn’t be allowed to be attractive _ , George grumbled internally.  _ It’s total false advertising _ . Even if Dream wasn’t an asshole, he was aggressively heterosexual. So there wasn’t even any use conducting that train of thought.

Right?

-

Dream’s first week at school was wildly improved by Sapnap’s presence. George was still a pain, but his rigorous schedule and obnoxiously long list of extracurriculars kept him out of their room most days. After school George had tennis, ( _ “In the winter?” Dream had balked. George rolled his eyes. “There are indoor courts, idiot.” _ ), and he spent most weekends cooped up in the stuffy library with only books for company. Wilbur dropped their dorm sometimes, (as handsome in real life as he was in the photo, though only coldly cordial to Dream), as well as the more cheerful Ponk, (a raucous hypebeast with a penchant for Nando’s runs), but otherwise George had no great bearing on his life. 

Sapnap filled the social void a normal roommate might have. It was surprisingly easy to adjust from a strictly online relationship to a strictly in-person one. On the first day, he charitably helped Dream unpack while George grumbled from his bed. After the chaotic first few days of classes, Sapnap invited Dream to his dorm. 

“Karl!” Sapnap called upon banging open their door. “My guy! My man! Come meet this loser.” Dream stepped inside the room, looking around. It was clear which side was Sapnap’s. A large Texas flag was haphazardly draped on the wall, held up by duct tape and faith. Despite having just moved back, the floor was littered with teenage boy paraphernalia- shirts, a loose spiral notebook, no less than three empty water bottles, and rolling papers. Dream made a mental note to ask about that last one later. 

The other side of the room was more sedated. Someone had neatly hung up a spiral tapestry onto the space above the bed. Residing on the bed was a BMO pillow and a grandpa sweater-laden boy. He looked up from his phone. 

“Hello, loser,” Karl greeted pleasantly. Dream wordlessly gave him a two finger salute, then turned to Sapnap and flipped him off. Karl giggled. 

“This,” Sapnap intoned dramatically, “Is Dream.” Karl gasped and jumped to his feet, gesturing excitedly.

“You’re the-” Karl said, looking at Dream. “He’s the-” Karl continued, swiveling to Sapnap, who nodded, clearly pleased. Karl returned his focus to Dream. 

“Sapnap has said so much about you!” Dream softened. He looked over at Sapnap, who was rubbing the back of his neck, seemingly embarrassed. Dream was weirdly touched by this. If he had had any friends, he would’ve told them about Sapnap too.

“You’re the piss guy!” On second thought, Dream was going to murder him. Sapnap widened his eyes at Karl, slashing a hand across his neck in the universal  _ shut the fuck up  _ sign. 

“I told you that in confidence!” Dream squeaked, feeling his ears burn red. He could still recall that night, when his then-girlfriend snuck through his window. In the middle of the night, Dream had to...change the sheets. The less said the better. At least she hadn’t woken up. Up until this very moment, Dream thought this information would die with Sapnap, who was now raising his hands placatingly. 

“In my defense, I didn’t think we’d ever meet. And hell, even if we did, I didn’t think you’d meet Karl,” Sapnap said. Karl looked a little chastened. 

“Aw, geez, I really put my foot in it huh? S’okay, I won’t mention it again.” Dream felt the anger rush out of him.

“I mean,” he hesitated. “It’s a little bit funny.” Sapnap brightened.

“It’s a lot a bit funny, but that’s for another day. In the meantime may I present the best roommate to walk the earth- Karl Jacobs!” Karl waved awkwardly.

“Pleased to meet you!” Karl enthused. “But, Sap, really, you shouldn’t be saying all that. Dream has a roommate too, I’m sure he prefers him.” Dream snorted.

“Uh, no. I’m sure I’ll prefer you, Mr. Jacobs,” Dream said, winking. Karl laughed.

“Oh, how forward of you!” Karl swooned, hand on his chest. “Well, I’m sure we’ll get along fine as long as you remember something very important.” Here, he beckoned Dream closer. 

“It’s Karl with a K, okay?” Dream wheezed. 

“Well,  _ Karl-with-a-K _ , I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” Sapnap groaned. 

“You guys know I’m still here, yeah?” As they all dissolved into laughter, Dream felt a little better about his fate at boarding school. As long as he spent as little time as possible with George, he’d be fine.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys for 1k hits!! wtfffffff :O


	4. crumble at extremes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> george is angry. sap + dream are stoned. nothing bad could happen, surely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw // smoking
> 
> the girls r fighting!!

George and Wilbur were sitting in the school's library, dutifully studying for a history test despite it being Friday night, when Wilbur had asked out of the blue.

“What’s so bad about Dream, anyhow?” George gaped at him. He felt a twinge of unwelcome annoyance towards Wilbur. Their arguments were always intense and when possible, George veered to avoid them. But this question picked at a scab. 

“How can you even ask that? He so clearly thinks he’s better than me,” George said, irritation bleeding through his speech. Wilbur arched an eyebrow, frowning but undaunted. 

“In what way? He’s never given me that impression.” George couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Seems pretty obvious to me.” At this, Wilbur’s frown hardened. George carried on despite it. 

“He just acts so unimpressed! Nothing ever seems to excite him, he’s just in some weird perpetual boredom. You should see what he’s like in our room. I mean, fuck, he’s barely even in our room. He didn’t even try to give me a chance, he just avoided me. He must think he’s so superior, he didn’t even bother to try to get to know me before making up his mind. When he’s there, when he’s in the room, he ignores me. Come on Will, you try living with that, see if you can still give him the benefit of the doubt,” George finished, coming to the realization his words had taken on a rant-like quality. 

“Christ. How can you claim he didn’t give you a chance? Did you even give _him_ a chance?” Wilbur said bitingly. 

“Of course I did-”

“No,” Wilbur interrupted. “You really didn’t.”

“What are you on about?” George got out, jaw clenched. Wilbur laughed humorlessly.

“What am I on about? Don’t play dumb now, Georgie. It took you all of one day to start bitching about him to me. You picked apart what you perceived as his ignorance based on nothing more than his area code. Didn’t even give him a second to change, just immediately started a row. Goes to show how the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree.” George found himself at the cross section of fury and despair.

“How can you compare me to him?” George whispered, not trusting his voice not to break if he spoke any louder. Wilbur’s face paled.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” Wilbur said pleadingly. But did George know that? “It’s just, well, you’re just. You’re being unfair. All I’m saying.” Fury triumphed over despair.

“Right, well, I think I’m being perfectly fair, thanks. Dream’s an arse, and I thought you were smart enough to see it.” Wilbur’s face dropped its previous remorse. He began to move at an intimidating speed for someone his size, sweeping his school supplies into his backpack. 

“What in the world are you doing?” George asked, anger cooling and manifesting into fear. _Don’t leave me_ , he thought desperately. _Somebody has to like me_. Wilbur jerked the bag onto one shoulder and stood up. 

“Go find someone smarter to help you study,” Wilbur said coolly. His nonchalant tone couldn’t fool George, who saw Wilbur’s hands balled into red, angry fists. Wilbur stalked off before George could even come up with a rebuttal. His vision went blurry. 

_Don’t cry, don’t cry, you’ll look pathetic, don’t cry_ , echoed in his head, an internal mantra to halt the tears welling up. George angrily swiped a hand across his face, wiping off the wetness that had escaped. It was no use studying now- all he wanted now was to lay down. 

George should’ve known that was too much to ask for. 

-

Dream was having an excellent night. Further inquiry into the previously noted rolling papers led him to this very moment, sharing a joint with Sapnap. Dream laid on his bed, gazing at the ceiling, while Sapnap seemed content sitting on the floor. They had propped open the window, which let in a cold breeze. Dream was hesitant at first to smoke in his room, what with the ever-present threat of his prefect roommate, but George had left not fifteen minutes before with Wilbur. George didn’t tell him what they were up to, nor did Dream ever care to ask, but George was typically gone for a while when accompanied by Wilbur. Frankly, Dream didn’t want to know what they were doing. Sapnap’s own hinting about Wilbur suggested the two were closer than most friends. Dream shuddered. The thought made him strangely uneasy. 

_Wait, is that homophobic?_ Dream wondered. _It’s not the fact that George could be with another_ guy _that makes me uncomfortable. The thought of George with_ anyone _makes me uncomfortable_. A small frown worked itself onto Dream’s face. The thought was true, but he couldn’t explain why he felt so strongly. His current state of mind wasn’t particularly conducive to any deep thinking, so he dropped it in favor of watching Sapnap blow wobbly smoke circles. Dream laughed abruptly. Sapnap peeked at him from his place on the floor.

“‘Sup, dude?” Sapnap asked, vestiges of smoke leaking out the corners of his mouth. 

“Isn’t it- isn’t it funny how like. Goddamn. I’m getting high with my best friend who I only met in real life like, a week ago.” 

“I’m your best friend?” Sapnap’s reddened eyes looked a little moist. Dream threw the pillow he’d been laying on at him. 

“You’re such an idiot. Who else would be? George?” Sapnap grimaced.

“I know you’re not gonna wanna hear this, but he’s really not so bad.” Dream groaned.

“Not so bad? It’s like he’s trying to patronize me by doing all his, uh, his overachiever shit while I lay around like a slacker. Actually, no, scratch that, he openly patronizes me. Elitist asshole in my book.” 

“I know he’s kinda...like that,” Dream rolled his eyes. “Okay, shut up, I didn’t know how to phrase it. Anyways, he just doesn’t know you well enough. You kinda were a dick when you two first met, we both know it. I thought he was kinda a bitch too, when I first met him. But he’s actually pretty cool sometimes. Not, like, _cool_ cool, y’know. Dude’s awkward. But, like, nice to be around. Don’t write him off too quick.” Dream pondered this. He sat up, dropping his gaze from the ceiling. 

“Maybe I won’t,” Dream said thoughtfully. Sapnap looked visibly cheered.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. When he gets back I’ll like. Start a conversation or some shit.” Sapnap winced.

“Mmm, no, wouldn’t try that. You’re kinda fucked, he’ll definitely notice. He’s cool, but not _that_ cool. Still a prefect.” Dream sighed.

“Yeah, okay. But later, I totally will.” Sapnap grinned lazily.

“Makes me happy, seeing my friends get along,” Sapnap said, one hand pretending to wipe a tear from his eye while the other clung to the joint. 

“Don’t get all sappy on me now. Haha, wait, sappy. And you’re Sapnap. Sappy Sapnap. Laugh,” Dream said. He sat up in bed, nudging Sapnap with his foot. “I’m hilarious.” Sapnap looked at him appraisingly.

“You’re not funny, bud, just high.” Dream lurched forward and snatched the joint from Sapnap’s hand, banking on his intoxicated lethargy to slow his reaction time. Sapnap whined while Dream laughed.

“Don’t mind if I do, thanks.” At that very moment, the door was flung open. George loomed, looking uncharacteristically disheveled. His eyes had a sunken quality, as if he had been crying. He was gripping a history textbook as though it had mortally wounded him. Dream felt a pang of sadness. Poor George. For the first time, Dream nearly pitied him, until he remembered. _Shit_ , Dream thought in a panic as his sluggish mind processed George’s presence. _Shit, shit, shit._

Dream watched, heart in throat, as George’s raw eyes scanned the room. Watched as he flitted his gaze to Dream’s face, then further down to his hand. To the offending object in his hand. George’s face twisted into something unreadable. Was he angry? Was he disappointed? Was he going to tell? George cleared his throat. 

“Nick,” George said, vocal cords shot. In Dream’s haze of fear, he had forgotten Sapnap’s presence. He saw it now, in Sapnap’s hand-wringing nerves.

“George, listen-” 

“Save it,” George said, tone and face still void of emotion. “Go back to your room. If I see you step out of line again, I will go directly to the headmaster. Understood?” Sapnap nodded anxiously, standing up and leaving in such a haste that he banged his foot into Dream’s desk and left the door ajar. George moved to close it. He turned. Inhaled. 

“What. The _fuck_. Is wrong with you,” George said, not even bothering the inflection most questions hold at the end. He stomped over to Dream and grabbed the joint, tossing it carelessly out the open window. Dream could barely process what had just happened in his addled state. He tried for a comeback anyways.

“I- Well- you know-” Dream stammered. _Oh my god, shut up. You’re gonna make it worse,_ his mind hissed. He lapsed into silence, fragments left unfinished. George blinked, unimpressed. He dropped the history textbook he’d been toting onto the desk, letting the loud sound echo. George stalked over to Dream, who still sat pathetically at the end of his bed, and looked down at him ominously. 

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll listen to me,” George said roughly. From this angle, Dream could clearly see the blotchiness around his eyes. George continued.

“The only reason that I’m not immediately ratting Sapnap out,” _Oh, so he’s Sapnap now?_ Dream though uselessly, “Is because he’s my friend. I might have a duty to keep you guys in line, but I’ll always stick my neck out for a friend. I can’t say the same for you.” Dream’s heart dropped from his throat. It felt as though these words had sobered him up, allowing competent thought. 

“What are you saying?” Dream asked meekly, afraid of the answer. George smirked.

“Not so high and mighty now, huh? What if I said that I was going to get your sorry ass expelled?” Dream’s pulse quickened, but he refused to take this proclamation lying down. Or, well, sitting. He stood up, regaining the height advantage. 

“You wouldn’t,” Dream said fiercely. George raised a mocking eyebrow.

“Based on...what, exactly? I wouldn’t because we’re so close? Because you’re such a good roommate?” Mind still reeling, Dream shoved George, frustrated. His hands hit the flat muscle of his chest. George stumbled back, eyes blazing. Dream held his ground.

“Do it and see what happens.” George snorted derisively at the threat. 

“You’ve only been here what, two weeks? And this is how you’ve spent it. You’re not gonna do shit, Dream. If you know what’s good for you, you won’t lay a hand on me.”

“ _You’re_ not good for me.”

“Likewise.” 

“You act all tough,” Dream growled, “But you can’t fool me. Who made you cry, pretty boy?” George’s face flooded with angry color. He tried to laugh it off.

“You think I’m pretty, huh?” _Yes,_ Dream thought. 

“You wish,” Dream said. 

“Get over yourself.”

Dream glowered into George’s eyes, who stared unflinchingly back. Dream dropped his gaze to the ground, relenting. 

“If you’re going to tell, you would’ve already done it. So go on then. Be the snitch I know you are. Give my parents exactly what they expect,” he spat. George kicked Dream’s foot. Dream lifted his head, wary of this. George’s brows were pushed together, mouth half open. 

“No,” George said simply. Dream tilted his head.

“No?”

“I’m not going to say anything.”

“Bull,” Dream said. George huffed angrily.

“It’s not ‘bull.’ I can’t believe you think I would. Goes to show what a high opinion you have of me.” 

“Oh, I beg your pardon, your highness. You’ve only given me every reason to like you.”

“Correct,” George said haughtily. The quiet hung thickly afterwards. Dream sat back down on his bed. George busied himself with turning the lights off. Dream heard his body fall onto his own bed.

“Just so you know,” George said, voice cutting through the darkness. “I’m not doing this because I like you.” Dream laughed in surprise.

“Believe me, I’m under no illusion that you do.” Dream laid down, pulling his own covers up. 

“I just-” George hesitated for a few beats. “I understand.” Dream scoffed. _How presumptuous,_ he thought. _He thinks he gets me_.

“No,” Dream said balefully. “You really _don’t_.” Dream waited for a response for a few moments before abandoning the anticipation. As he laid in silence, the wind picked up outside the window neither had cared to close. _Come what may_ , Dream thought, before relinquishing himself into the arms of unconsciousness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments + kudos always appreciated! curious to know what u guys think abt this one

**Author's Note:**

> comments + kudos appreciated :)


End file.
